An American Girl in Italy: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance. Aubrie Dionne

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СКАЧАТЬ hung up, leaving her with a dead phone stuck to her ear. Carly stomped her foot as anger threatened to get the better of her. How long would it take to rise back to the top of his precious list? ‘Asshole.’

      There was that tug on her arm again, this time more insistent. Fury boiling inside her, she whirled around. ‘I told you—’

      A man who looked like he’d walked off a Giorgio Armani ad glowed before her, illuminated by the Italian sun shining through the windows behind him. Midnight hair rolled in waves around his ears, slicked back from his face with just the right amount of mousse. Thick, perfectly sculpted, dark eyebrows contrasted with smooth, olive skin. Blue eyes with a ring of amber around the center mesmerized her.

      ‘Are you with the Easthampton Civic Symphony, signorina?’ He accented his words just like the cultured Italian men on the James Bond films she had watched growing up.

      ‘Yes, I was just—’ what was she doing? Carly’s voice trailed off.

      ‘May I introduce myself? I am Michelangelo Ricci, your tour guide.’

      Their tour guide? Carly’s stomach plummeted. She’d just made a bitchy fool of herself right in front of the man she’d have to spend the next two weeks with. Great. Or what do the Italians say? Bene.

      Michelangelo stared in expectation at her with his beautiful blue-amber eyes. What did he want? Some sort of pat on the back? A kiss? Stop daydreaming. Carly blinked back to reality. ‘Yes?’

      ‘And you are?’

      ‘Oh. Carly Davis.’

      He extended his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Carly.’

      She took his hand in hers and squeezed. He had a strong grip with rough calluses, maybe from working outside in the vineyard? Boy, this guy was too good to be true. Which was why she should stay the hell away.

      He released her hand politely, if not a little too soon for her taste. ‘Per favore, follow me. The tour bus is just beyond the doors.’

      ‘I know that.’ She grabbed her oboe case. Her long, floral bohemian skirt caught on her Birkenstock, and she tumbled face-forward on top of her luggage. Her over-packed bag broke her fall, but it didn’t stave off a humbling wave of embarrassment.

      He reached for her arm, pulling her up. ‘Mio dio, are you all right?’

      Why was she so off all of a sudden? Must have been the conversation with Dino. It couldn’t possibly be the tall, dark and gorgeous hottie, who must think she was the biggest idiot ever to land in Italy.

      ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Her fingers shook as she grabbed the handle of her rolling bag. ‘Just a long flight, that’s all.’

      ‘I’m sure it was.’ His eyes glanced to where the bus was parked, looking very unconvinced. He reached for her oboe case, of all things. ‘May I help you?’

      ‘Absolutely not.’ She pulled her case back. He may be hot, but she wasn’t about to trust him with her twelve grand rosewood Lorée. Embarrassment climbed its way into her cheeks until she was pretty sure her entire face was red as a ketchup bottle. Her pale skin didn’t help. Even at her most calm, her cheeks always looked pink.

      ‘Va bene.’ He stiffened as though slightly offended, then stepped away from her and moved toward the double doors. ‘If you’ll come this way.’

      Carly followed him to the tour bus, dragging her luggage behind her and feeling like she was unwittingly doing everything she could to tick off the one person she’d have to rely upon for the next two weeks.

      Maybe it was for the best. She was dangerously attracted to him, and the last thing she needed was a distraction.

       Off to a great start.

      *****

      Michelangelo Ricci trudged to the tour bus feeling as though he’d signed away the next two weeks of his life. Fourteen days of vivere l’inferno, or as the silly Americans would say, a living hell.

      It was because of wealthy Americans he was here, scraping together a paycheck so they didn’t build luxury condos on his family’s winery. The irony of his situation cackled in his face.

      What Ms. Maxhammer and the rest of the orchestra didn’t know was the only tours he had ever conducted were on his own vineyard. His family’s land had fallen to him a few years ago, and if he didn’t earn money fast, it would be history. Applying to Ms. Maxhammer’s ad was his only way out, even if he had to stretch the truth.

      As if taking care of spoiled, lazy tourists wasn’t enough, the embodiment of the All-American Girl following him to the tour bus already grated on his nerves. The crazy part was that if she hadn’t been so rude, he would have thought her intriguingly attractive. Not many women in his part of the world had such white-blonde hair and pale skin, looking more like she walked out of a fairytale than an airplane. Her pale-blue eyes were gorgeous, but it was the sheer determination mixed with intense vulnerability within them that piqued his attention.

      Who was she talking to and why was it so important? Usually he didn’t meddle in the affairs of others, but overhearing her desperation made him want to jump in like a knight in shining armor. All the way up until the part where she called the man an asshole. This woman could fight for herself.

      So why did he feel such an inclination to help her?

      Must be the big paycheck waiting for him after the tour ended. It wouldn’t solve his family’s problems, but it would buy them more time.

      They reached the bus, and he turned around, wondering if he should even ask to help her with her bag again. The way she recoiled, clutching the small case to her chest made him wonder if she had trust issues. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off one of the Americans on his first day. Ms. Maxhammer had explicitly asked for the utmost courtesy.

      ‘Would you like some help, signorina?’ He prepared himself for the worst.

      Carly narrowed her eyes, which turned to ice in the midday sun. ‘You can take this bag.’ She pointed to the large, heavy one with wheels.

      ‘Very well.’ He bent down and gripped the handle. His muscles bunched as he picked it up. Mio dio. What was in here — rocks?

      Of course, he didn’t want her to see him strain. Gritting his teeth, he hefted the bag up the steps and onto the luggage shelf at the front of the bus. It hit the shelf, rattling all the other bags before settling.

      Edda, the bus driver, who could have posed as his mother, turned around and spoke in Italian. ‘Is she the last one?’

      He wiped his forehead. ‘Si.’

      Carly followed him up the steps, still clutching the smaller case like a baby, with small, elegant fingers. She looked like a lost princess who had misplaced her carriage. A pang of compassion shot through his chest. The desire to scoop her up and comfort her overwhelmed him. Remember how she told that person off on the phone? You don’t want to become asshole number two.

      Michelangelo scanned the seats. Every one was full, except СКАЧАТЬ